


Follow the Sparks

by angellwings



Series: (You Are) What You Love [9]
Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Epic One Shot, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friendship/Love, Long Shot, Part 9 of 18, Romance, Set the week after Christmas in S2E12 through to NYE, Supportive Wyatt Logan, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 16:17:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21102347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angellwings/pseuds/angellwings
Summary: He knows exactly what he's doing to her. Hehasto. How dare he stand there with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and his hands around a cold glass of some quirky local brew.His very masculine andcapablehands. The same hands that were very nearly under her dress on the car ride over. This is the first time she's been invited to spend New Years Eve out with friends in a couple of years and yet all she wants to do is get Wyatt alone. What is he doing to her?





	Follow the Sparks

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N: **It's 1 AM but I did it! YAY! Okay, so this might be my favorite Lover series one shot so far. Be warned, it's long (over 10k words). And also, HERE BE SMUT. So, if you're reading at work or on a bus or a subway...maybe turn your brightness down somewhere around December 29th, 2018 (you'll see what I mean). ;)
> 
> I hope this makes up for my inadvertently being away so long! I took a vacation and then a lot of other things snuck up on me once I got back. Thank you guys so much for your support and patience!
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> Angellwings
> 
> PS - I did a very quick once over for typos and errors but seeing as it's 1 AM and I'm tired, it's highly likely I missed a few. Please forgive me. My eyes are definitely not fresh at this point.
> 
> PPS - I FINALLY USED THE LAST OF MY PROMPTS FROM THE PROMPT GAME. See the note at the end for the prompts used.
> 
> * * *

* * *

"I think he knows,

When we get all alone,

I'll make myself at home,

And he'll want me to stay.

I think he knows,

He better lock it down,

Or I won't stick around,

'Cause good ones never wait."

-"I Think He Knows" by Taylor Swift

* * *

_New Years Eve, 2018_

He knows exactly what he's doing to her. He _has_ to. How dare he stand there with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and his hands around a cold glass of some quirky local brew.

His very masculine and _capable_ hands. The same hands that were very nearly under her dress on the car ride over. This is the first time she's been invited to spend New Years Eve out with friends in a couple of years and yet all she wants to do is get Wyatt alone. What is he doing to her?

She swallows thickly and takes a long sip of her wine. She really shouldn't be staring at him from across the room. It's weird and a bit creepy. She knows it is but she can't seem to stop.

"Alright," Jiya says with a smirk, snapping Lucy out of her lustful trance. "I'm beginning to understand why Rufus and I haven't seen either one of you since Christmas."

"What?" Lucy asks with a furrowed brow.

"You _reek_ of sex," Jiya tells her with a light laugh. "And the eye fucking is basically nonstop too. I mean the amount of times the two of you have managed to make eye contact across Christopher's living room is astounding. I always suspected you guys had a sixth sense for each other but _come on_."

Lucy's eyes widen as she shoots Jiya a silencing glare. "I do not _reek of sex_."

Jiya snorts derisively. "You do. You really do. Not that I blame you. Things between the two of you sizzled under the surface for so long that an explosion was bound to happen."

Lucy opens her mouth to reply to Jiya (with what words she's not sure) but she never gets the chance. Someone else interrupts.

"Professor Preston?" A young voice asks.

Lucy turns to the voice and finds the familiar face of a former student. "Oh, hello! Um, Harper, isn't it?"

"Yes! I was in your class when you took leave. That was such a big class. I wasn't sure you'd remember," Harper replies bashfully.

"You applied for a TA position with me. We had a very lengthy conversation during your interview. That's hard to forget," Lucy assures her. In fact, she planned to hire her for the next semester but then Flynn stole the Mothership and any and all plans blew away in the aftermath.

"I did! I was so disappointed to not have anymore classes with you. I didn't see you on this coming semester's class register either," Harper says as she forms a small circle with Lucy and Jiya. Obviously, deciding to stay for a while.

"Oh, yes, I just got back. I didn't get back in time to rejoin the staff for this semester," she explains.

"Speaking of your leave," Harper says as she leans forward with a conspiratory whisper. "Where did you go all of a sudden? No one would tell us where you were. One kid even started a rumor that you were abducted by some freaky cult."

Lucy and Jiya share a look. That rumor is too close to the truth.

"I did a little consulting work for Homeland Security and then took some time to research my next book topic. Trust me. It wasn't anything as exciting or dangerous as an abduction," Lucy lies.

"Oh! Small world! My fiancé starts work with Homeland next week! Is that how you know Denise Christopher?" At Lucy's nod, Harper continues. "Rob is going to be an analyst for her team." She turns and points to the younger man Wyatt and Rufus have been chatting with for most of the evening. "That's him. Isn't he cute?"

"Wow! And now the world is even smaller," Jiya adds with a mischievous grin. "Turns out your fiancé is going to be working with Lucy's boyfriend."

"Noah?" Harper asks in confusion. "Isn't he a doctor?"

_Awkward_.

"Um, no. Noah and I broke up," Lucy answers. "My, uh, boyfriend—" if that's what Wyatt's called now. "—Is Wyatt Logan. The gruff looking guy with the blue eyes next to Rob."

"Oh! _Oh. _I never would have thought—I mean, no offense or anything, but I never would have thought he'd be your type," Harper tells her nervously. "He's very...rough around the edges and Noah..._wasn't_."

Noah wasn't a lot of things that Wyatt _is_ so Lucy understands Harper's point but _Harper_ doesn't know Wyatt. This won't be the only reaction like this she'll face. She's aware of that, but it is the _first_ reaction of someone from her old life. She and Wyatt have been in their own little bubble from Christmas to New Years. She wants to stay there a while longer.

People in her academic circle likely won't understand. To them, it will appear that Lucy left Noah for Wyatt. It's not the truth but no one knows the real truth except for a very small circle of people. She'll have to learn to live with that perception.

"My _type_ was overrated," Lucy answers.

"Right, okay," Harper says with a confused expression. She must not know what to do with that information because Harper changes the subject. "So, what all have you been up to since you came back to town?"

"Yeah, Lucy," Jiya says with a goading grin. "What all have you been up to?"

"Oh, nothing much, really," Lucy replies, smiling secretively. "Just settling back in."

* * *

_December 26th, 2018_

"Ready to go full Kondo?" Lucy asks as Wyatt turns the lock on his storage unit.

"Full what now?" He replies with a bewildered face.

"Kondo. Marie Kondo? Organization goddess and tidying up extraordinaire?" Lucy prods with a shocked expression. "Seriously? She's _everywhere_."

"Yeah, well, I've been a little preoccupied with time travel and the end of the world so—"

She rolls her eyes at his teasing grin and slaps his arm. "Smartass."

"Alright, I'll bite. What does going full Kondo entail?" He asks as he pockets the open lock and reaches for the bottom handle of the door.

"It's easy," Lucy reassures him. "You just get rid of the physical things that no longer bring you joy. Simple, right?"

"Deceptively so," Wyatt says warily as he pulls the sliding door upward. "But what do you do if a lot of things just happen to bring you joy?"

Lucy turns to look at his half empty storage unit, filled mostly with the necessities, and chuckles. "By the looks of it, that's not a problem you have, soldier."

"I don't know," he says as he places his hands on his hips with a sigh. "Marie Kondo may have something. Not a lot of this stuff brings me joy. It's all pretty…"

His sentence trails off and Lucy finishes it for him. "Boring?"

"I was gonna say basic but okay," Wyatt replies with a laugh. "Don't spare my feelings, Professor."

She bites her bottom lip with a sheepish expression. "Sorry."

He wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her against him with a warm smile. "Don't apologize. The honestly is nice. Besides, you're right. Boring is for sure a better description. It wouldn't hurt to pick out some new pieces for the apartment."

"Really?" Lucy asks with a suspicious quirk of her brow. "You don't seem like the type to volunteer for change."

He lifts one shoulder and focuses his bright blue gaze on her. "I don't know, after the last few months a fresh start sounds pretty damn good to me."

"Me too," Lucy agrees. "As soon as I clear out my mom's house, that is. Until then my fresh start is gonna be delayed a bit."

"If you need any help with that—"

"Thank you," she says as she kisses his lips quickly. "But I've got it. Promise."

Or _eventually_ she'll get it. Someday. When she's ready to face both her mother and Amy and the variety of ways she failed them. That someday is not today. Today, she'll distract herself with _Wyatt_. Honestly, there's no better distraction.

"Now," Lucy says as she pulls out of his embrace and turns back to the storage unit. "Let's put the bare bones of what you need in the truck. The bed frame, the mattress, and the boxspring are a must and then whatever else you still want to keep around."

"Coffee table, TV, entertainment center, and the boxes of personal items," Wyatt declares quickly. "Everything else can stay until I can donate it."

"Perfect," she says with a beaming smile. "And then..._shopping_."

"The way you said that makes me feel like I should be terrified right now," Wyatt tells her with raised brows.

"Let's just say that shopping for home goods is my...how would you say it? My A.O.?"

"Alright, if you're going to start speaking in military acronyms then we're never going to get any work done," Wyatt warns with a lopsided smirk as he snakes his arms around her again.

She bites her bottom lip and grins knowingly at him. "Well that would be a real SNAFU, wouldn't it?"

"You're about to get in over your head, Preston. You and those military terms are testing my restraint," he tells her as he sits down on his sofa and pulls her down with him.

Her eyes roam over him in his jeans and fitted red t-shirt. She loves the way the short sleeves hug his biceps. "Getting in over my head with you doesn't really _sound_ like a bad thing, Master Sergeant."

He presses her into the arm rest as his hand slips under the hem of her shirt to skim across her stomach. His lips land on her neck and kiss a heated trail over her skin until he covers her lips with his.

She whimpers into the kiss and brings her hands up to comb through his hair and gently scrape over his stubble. Just as she reaches for the bottom of his shirt to pull it up and over his head, they hear the main door into the storage facility slam shut.

They break apart as if they've already been caught, with flushed startled faces, and then listen to footsteps as they fade away in the opposite direction. Their identical silent states of worry simultaneously explode into hysterical fits of laughter.

"Probably not the best place for a make out session," Lucy tells him accusingly.

"Then don't say things like A.O. and use my rank against me. You _know_ exactly what that does to me, ma'am," he says with a playful yet serious glare. "_You know_."

She decides to play with fire a little longer and slides her hands under his t-shirt to feel the hard muscles on his chest. "Yeah, well, you're the one who wore this shirt. It looks too perfect on you. It fits too snuggly. I mean leave a little to my imagination, will you?"

"I wasn't aware that wearing a t-shirt was a turn on," Wyatt replies with a mix of arousal and amusement. He places his hands over her wrists and then pulls her hands out of his shirt. "Please stop or I'll end up risking a lot more than publically getting us to second base."

"Fine," she says with a huff and only a half feigned look of frustration. "And of course you weren't aware that a t-shirt is a good look for you. You know, on some level, you're attractive but you have no idea what makes you that way. Like wearing a t-shirt or knowing four languages or your shoulder holster or rolling up—"

His eyes widen along with his grin. "My shoulder holster?"

"Yes," Lucy admits with a blush. "Your shoulder holster."

"And speaking four languages? Really?"

"Hi, I'm _me_. Knowledge is sexy," Lucy replies with a teasing eye roll. Really, that should be the least surprising of all of them.

"Wow, Rufus must be irresistible to you then," Wyatt says with a smirk.

"Oh, yes, trust me if it weren't for Jiya you'd be out on the curb, pal," she deadpans as a corner of her mouth barely tugs upward.

"Always good to know exactly where I stand," he tells her with a muted chuckle.

"Rest assured, though, Rufus has no ability to pull off the shoulder holster. That's a talent exclusive to Wyatt Logan," she says with a wink as she stands from the couch and grabs his hands to pull him to his feet.

He wipes his brow in an exaggerated gesture and puffs out a purposely strained breath. "That's a relief."

Once they're both standing they reach for a piece of his bed frame.

"Let's get this over with. I'd like for us to get home sooner rather than later and enjoy an actual bed tonight," Wyatt tells her with a wicked grin.

"Sounds like you've got something up your sleeve," Lucy says curiously with a sultry glance.

He smirks and nods slowly before he replies. "Let's just say I know exactly where my shoulder holster is and, if I'm following Marie Kondo's advice, it's definitely sticking around. I'm thinking it's about to bring me _a lot _of joy."

She blushes and laughs as she positions herself around the back of the frame. Normally, her fantasies would stay locked up tight. She never trusted Jonas with them and she barely knew Noah, but Wyatt is different. He's always been different. So instead of hiding, she grins through her slight embarrassment and meets his heated gaze with her own.

"You and me both, Logan," she replies.

"How about we make a trade," he proposes as he stops in front of his end of the bed frame. "I wear the shoulder holster...and you wear that blazer you have with the suede elbow patches. _Only_ the blazer with the elbow patches."

Her mouth drops open in surprise and she feels her cheeks flush. "You like the elbow patches? You're kidding, right? You have to be."

His closed lip smile turns sinful as he shakes his head almost imperceptibly. "I would never joke about those elbow patches. Honestly, never knew I had a sexy professor kink until you came along, Preston. So," he says as he brings them back to the topic at hand. "Do we have a deal?"

"No way am I passing up on a deal like this. Of course we do. Besides, how else are we going to celebrate sharing a real bed for the first time in _months_?"

They reach across the bed frame to shake on it and then get to work. There's too much at stake to waste any more time.

* * *

_December 27th, 2018_

She wakes up to find his shoulder holster hanging from the corner of his new headboard and her blazer laying haphazardly across the old wooden bench at the foot of the bed. Both furniture pieces are new to Wyatt's apartment and a result of yesterday's shopping.

She learned a lot of things about Wyatt yesterday. Little details. Like the fact that his coffee table is an original piece constructed by his Grandpa Sherwin. It's made of wood reclaimed from an old barn. It has an old faded ad for Dr. Pepper painted on the underside, multiple scuffs, and lots of drink rings on its surface but somehow it doesn't look like junk. It looks..._well loved_.

It looks like it belongs anywhere Wyatt is.

She helped him make it the focal point of his living room. The side tables are the same level of distressed and rustic, the curtains are the same color of deep red as the Dr. Pepper ad, and the armchair in the living room has scuffs in the leather to match the scuffs on the table.

She wanted to make sure Wyatt liked it but she had no idea how much she'd like it too by the time they finished. He still needs a few things like night stands in the bedroom, hangers for his closets, a hamper or two, and _art_. His walls are so empty that it's almost depressing. No amount of decorations can cover up a lack of photos and art. They'll need to sort that out as soon as possible.

The warm body her head is currently resting on groans tiredly and then adjusts to coil around her — interrupting her mental to-do list.

When they first met, she never would have thought of Wyatt as a cuddler. She obviously thought wrong. Not that she's complaining. She much prefers waking up in his arms to literally anything else.

Anything else as in the chore she's been putting off for two days now: stepping inside her mother's house for the first time since Rittenhouse took her.

She needs to get started on cleaning it out. She wants to sell it and wash her hands of her mother's legacy forever. Though, that's not completely realistic. Carol Preston's legacy will always be waiting for her at Stanford. Getting rid of the house won't stop that.

She's just woken up but already she feels emotionally spent. She feels exhausted all the time. It's almost like time travel jet lag or as if her soul is weary from all the heartbreaking whiplash. The last thing she wants is to expose herself to more hurt and tears. Honestly, she wishes she could stay hidden away in Wyatt's apartment for at least a month.

She worries she'll never feel energized again or that all of her mental stamina was spent fighting Rittenhouse. Those worries force her to puff out a hopeless sigh. Will anything in a world ignorant of time travel ever feel safe or normal again?

Calluses trace a line up and down the column of her spine, pulling her attention to the concerned deep blue gaze of her companion.

His other hand rises and pointedly brushes her temple as he speaks. "What's going on up here, Professor? You're thinking awfully loud."

She shakes her head at him and tightens her arms around his middle. "It's nothing. Just thinking about how long my to-do list has gotten."

He quirks a brow at her and when it falls his eyes narrow suspiciously. "That sigh was about a to-do list?"

"Among other things. Don't worry about it," she assures him. "I'm fine."

"Last time you told me it was 'fine' that wasn't the entire truth," he replies worriedly.

Guilt swells in her chest, but she stays the course. She's simply not ready to let reality into his apartment just yet. "This isn't _that_," she promises. "We're passed that."

But they're not passed other obstacles. Not yet.

He looks as though he wants to push the issue but he doesn't. He simply nods and drops a kiss on her head that's lost somewhere in her hair.

"So, do you need any help with this to-do list?" He asks.

She wants to ask him for help, but another part of her wants him as far away from her emotional turmoil as possible. She isn't used to letting people see her emotions. Not even Amy got the full picture of how Lucy felt at any given moment. She gave a few small pieces to a select group of people but no one person ever had enough pieces to put them all together.

She made that mistake with her mother and Carol Preston was sure to use it all against her every day of her life. She would never give anyone else that sort of power over her ever again.

"No, that's okay," she answers with a forced smile. "But I appreciate the offer."

Secretly, she would like him there to lean on if she needs it but she can't bring herself to let him in. She's too afraid of what will happen if she does. The last time she leaned on him he was ripped away from her. Relying on anyone else for solace or comfort is just too damn risky.

She hates herself for feeling that way, but she's not equipped to push passed it right now.

Again, he looks as if he might try to prod her into talking about it. She braces herself for it, but in the end he only flashes her half of a grin before speaking.

"Right, well, then I guess we'd better find some breakfast and start the day," he says as he squeezes her bare waist and playfully winks at her. "If we end every day like yesterday then we may need to adjust our caloric intake."

She's laughs for the first time that morning and feels a few of her insecurities float away. A brightness she's never really known replaces them. That brightness feels almost as refreshing as a hot cup of coffee.

Speaking of…

"Coffee first," she insists. "Then food."

"Your wish is my command, Preston," Wyatt says with a warm chuckle. "Caffeine coming right up."

She feels him gently nip at her shoulder before he pushes off the bed to stand. The bed immediately feels cold and empty. She hates it.

She follows him out of bed and raids his closet for one of his flannels. His eyes rake over her slowly as she fastens each button.

"If you keep wearing my shirts then I won't be able to wear any of them without thinking about your legs peeking out from under them," he warns. His normally bright eyes have darkened to a deep indigo due to the way his eyes have dilated in desire.

"That's sort of the point," she replies with a challenging smirk.

He shakes his head at her in amusement. "That's..._diabolical_ and completely unfair."

Her smirk widens into a closed lip smile as she shrugs carelessly. "All's _fair_ in love and war, Wyatt."

And they'd always lived with a little bit of both.

Wyatt makes pancakes and eggs while Lucy flirts with him across the breakfast bar. He's an excellent distraction from the day ahead of her and she plans to indulge in him as much as possible. Eventually, though, she's showered and changed and has no reason to delay any longer.

As she reaches the door, Wyatt hands her a travel mug full of coffee and kisses her slowly. He lets the spark of chemistry between them sizzle for as long as he can. That spark both soothes and excites. She's not sure how, but with one kiss her nerves have calmed and her motivation has spiked. Facing the ghosts of her family doesn't feel as daunting as it did just moments ago.

When he pulls away, he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I've got to go to the storage unit later today," he tells her. "I called the local Habitat for Humanity. They're coming to pick up the things that we left behind yesterday." He presses a key into the palm of her hand. "My spare. In case I'm not here when you get back."

The jagged metal edge of the key burns against her skin. His key? He—he gave her a key? Is that supposed to mean something or is he just being considerate? She should ask, but the question sticks in her throat.

She manages to stutter out an awkward "Th-thanks."

If he thinks anything of her lack of a response he doesn't show it. She raises up slightly to kiss his cheek and then bolts out the door. What does it all mean? Does it mean anything? Does she want it to mean something? Is she overthinking it?

Probably. She overthinks a lot of things.

Some good does come of her confusion. It distracts her through the cab ride to her mother's. She doesn't even register they've arrived until the driver loudly clears his throat.

She swallows thickly as she sticks the key into the lock. For a moment, she forgets herself and debates calling Amy for help. And then she remembers…

Amy doesn't exist.

Her eyes water as the latch turns and the door opens. Eerie _deafening_ silence greets her. There's no one there and, judging by the smell of stale air, hasn't been anyone there for _months_.

There's no Carol. No Amy. No family at all.

The place she called home for years no longer feels warm and welcoming. It's barren and desolate. She shivers through the slight December chill that's filled the home. No, not home — _house. _The title of home no longer suits. She finds the thermostat and turns it both on and up. Though, she doubts increasing the temperature will do anything to stop her shivers.

She lingers in the foyer for far too long just..._staring_. She's frozen in a panic.

The house may not have changed in her absence but it feels completely foreign.

She has no idea how to begin.

She flips through the contacts in her phone on autopilot. She's not even aware she's doing it until she realizes her finger is hovering over Wyatt's name. She gasps and the soft noise fills the empty house. No. _No_. This is her problem. Not Wyatt's.

She fights the ache in her heart and shoves the phone into her pants pocket. There's power in vulnerability and leaning on anyone else has proved dangerous to her in the past. She will not fall into those traps again.

She takes a deep breath and runs a shaking hand over the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. The memory of Wyatt telling her he was leaving her behind to save Jessica flashes across her memory unbidden. She sat on that bottom step and cried for twenty minutes after he left. She felt just as powerless then as she does now, only for vastly different reasons.

She decides to start with the bathrooms. She finds boxes in one of the hall closets and marches up the stairs to her old bathroom. She will not let this house defeat her.

Not after surviving a war with Rittenhouse.

The first hour or so is very cut and dry. She throws the dusty shower curtain and towels in the hamper and then fills the box with items that she intends to keep. She digs out a trash bag from under the sink and fills it with things that need to be tossed.

She's down to one last item before she can move on to the guest bathroom: an old teal and pink Caboodles case. She cracks a faint smile as she pulls it into her lap. She remembers buying this particular case. She used it until her mother insisted on buying her a nicer one. Lucy hadn't seen it since she handed it down to—

She can't bring herself to finish the thought.

Her breathing becomes labored as the memory of her little sister washes over her.

Amy usually hated hand-me-downs but she loved this one. She even took it with her when she moved into her college dorm and then on all her travels after graduation. Lucy used to tease her mercilessly about it, but Amy never cared. She said it reminded her of home. No matter where she was in the world she could look at that case and remember the people who loved her.

There's still someone in this world who loves Amy. The only difference is that Amy's no longer around to remember it, and Lucy's the only person who will ever remember _her._

Lucy stands with the case tight in a two handed grip. Rage and grief fill her well passed capacity. What did Amy ever do to deserve to disappear? Why didn't Lucy save her when she had the chance? What kind of person is she now that she's failed Amy so completely?

She's not really sure what happens after that. One moment she's holding the case in her hands and the next she's launching it down the stairs with as much force as she can manage — _sobbing and screaming_ louder than ever before. She comes back to herself as she watches the case bounce and crash it's way down the wooden staircase. With each hit it cracks until it lays in two busted halves on the foyer rug.

"No, no, no, no," she mutters as she races down the stairs to take stock of the damage.

The make up inside the case is everywhere. Eyeshadow pans have cracked and spread powder all over the hardwood. Old blush compacts have fallen open and trailed bright red across the rug. The mirror in the case shattered, leaving small shards in its wake.

It's a gigantic mess of her own making.

She settles on her knees in front of it and tries to salvage as much as she can, but halfway through she gives up and slinks back to sit on the stairs.

It's a lost cause. She's done too much damage, and now she's ruined one of the only physical memories of Amy she has left. She tries her damndest to strangle her tears by covering her face with her hands but it doesn't work. Now that they've started she can't make them stop.

The memory of her crying on the stairs from earlier in the day feels more relevant than ever. She's come full circle. She smashes her previous record of twenty minutes to pieces. When the tears finally dry up, the clock reads four in the afternoon. Her blood sugar is crashing and she desperately needs to rehydrate. She physically can _not_ spend another moment in her mother's house.

Originally, she debated spending the night in order to get more done, but now…

Now she craves _Wyatt_. She craves shelter and safety and warmth. She shouldn't want to run to him, but she does. She can't stop herself from needing him even when she refuses to let him see how the day has hurt her. And god dammit did it ever hurt her. The scars on her heart are old but they sting as if they're brand new.

What a waste of a day, she thinks dejectedly. If she thought she felt depleted of energy before now she feels the exhaustion in her _bones_.

She sniffles and wipes her face. She does her best to save her makeup using the mirror in the downstairs half bath. Once she looks presentable again, she ignores the mess in the foyer and heads straight for the garage.

Her car keys are inside her car, with the Department of Homeland Security evidence tag still on them. They must have swept her car for evidence after Rittenhouse took her. She closes her eyes tightly and shoves _that_ memory away. She's relived enough for one day.

On the drive back to Wyatt's she packs away the trauma of the day. She practices her answer when he inevitably asks her how it went. She needs him but she can't bring herself to confide in him. She's too tired to knock down those specific walls at the moment, but the guilt still plagues her. She should do something nice for him since he's letting her crash with him (since he gave her a key). She passes a grocery store and instinctively pulls in.

She doesn't cook but one of those ready made lasagnas should be easy, right?

_Wrong_.

Two hours later, as she pulls a slightly charred lasagna from Wyatt's oven, she's reminded why cooking will never be her strong suit.

She lets out an irritated growl and drops the pan on the stove top just as Wyatt's door opens and closes.

"That's not a good sound to come home to," he says from the next room, barely hidden amusement lacing his tone.

She doesn't respond as his footsteps come closer. She merely sighs and turns to face him expectantly.

His eyebrows rise as he takes in the barely edible pan of food behind her and then a slow smile spreads across his face. "Aw, babydoll, you cooked."

The scoff and eyeroll that escape her are far too natural. "Shut up. I tried, okay?"

He runs a hand across his chin as he steps closer to examine the lasagna with a muffled laugh. "It's not so bad, Luce. We'll just avoid the edges."

"Or we could toss it and order take out," she suggests sardonically.

"No way," he insists as he wraps his arms around her and pulls her into his chest. "We're eating it just so you can see it's not as hopeless as you think it is."

She shakes her head at him but can't stop the grin at his words of encouragement. "You're a brave man, Wyatt Logan. You sure you want to accept that mission?"

"No mission's too risky when it's for you, Professor," he tells her as his warm stare searches her face. "How was your day?"

"Good, boring. Packed a bunch of boxes, called around to some realtors." Or at least that had been her plan.

He looks surprised and, if she's not mistaken, a little hurt. "You worked on your mom's house today?"

"Yeah, that was most of my to-do list," she answers with an uncertain expression. "I'm sorry, did I not mention that?"

"No, you didn't mention that. Are you...are you okay? It wasn't overwhelming for you or anything?" He asks worriedly.

"Nope," she says with all the false brightness she can muster. "Not overwhelming at all. I'm good, really. No big deal. It's all fi—"

"Fine?" He interrupts, his features full of boredom. "Is that what you were going to say? _Fine_?"

"Are you...are you _mad_?" She asks with a furrowed brow. "I'm sorry, I didn't tell you I was going to the house. It wasn't intentional." It honestly wasn't. Shutting him out after the fact is, but not telling him about the house before wasn't. "I thought it was obvious given how little is actually going on in my life right now."

"No," he answers earnestly. "I'm not mad. I just...that seems like a lot to take on all by yourself. Especially given that we just got out of the Bunker a couple of days ago. I know we've had some happy moments together since then but not even that is enough to forget the fact that we're fresh off some hard hitting losses. Are you sure you don't want some help?"

A voice in the back of her head is telling her to listen to him. It's saying he's faced war more than she has and he knows what he's talking about. It wants her to lean on him. It's telling her she doesn't have to do this alone. But that voice sounds a little too much like Amy and she can't bear to acknowledge it. _Not yet._

"If I need any help you'll be the first person I ask, Wyatt," she lies. "But right now it truly is no big deal. I spent the day tossing out old nail polish and nearly empty shampoo bottles. Hardly the stuff my childhood memories are made of."

It's not exactly a lie but it isn't the truth either. She hates herself a little more for it.

"If you say so," he replies with a wan smile.

"I say so," she tells him. "Now, I believe we have an overcooked lasagna to eat. Do you want dark cheese or light cheese?"

He laughs loudly and narrows a teasing glare on her. "You're not scaring me, Preston. I said I'm eating it and I'm eating it."

"Not one to give up a fight that easily, huh?" She asks as genuine merriment returns to her heart. He always does this to her. Her day can be total shit and he'll find a way to turn it around. God, she loves him.

"Never," he answers with a pointed stare. She gets the distinct impression that he's no longer talking about the lasagna. "I never give up a fight when it matters."

Does he know? Does he know she's lying to him? Can he see through her, straight to her pain? She didn't think so, but now she's not so sure.

* * *

_December 28th, 2018_

She decides not to go to the house today. Her heart is telling her she's not up to it and, for once, she decides not to fight it.

Wyatt has to spend the day at the office. He's got a bit of paperwork to fill out and then he has to get his Homeland Security badge and I.D. He wakes her up for a goodbye kiss and then leaves her to her own devices.

It shocks her how much she misses him.

She's never missed any significant other as much as she misses him. What is _that_ about? It's as if she has an insatiable need for him. That's new and _terrifying_. But she won't deny it. They once talked about being each other's lightning. Before him she'd never felt that with anyone. She _knows _she'll never feel it with anyone else ever again. He’s _it_.

They’re John and Abigail Adams. Sometimes on each other's nerves or separated by circumstances beyond their control but _always_ a team.

Even if half the team is possibly keeping a few secrets, she thinks as shame creeps in to her conscience.

She spends the day finishing up buying the things Wyatt needs for his apartment. It keeps her busy and keeps the guilt at bay. She decides she needs to make up for her disastrous attempt at dinner the night before. She stops by the grocery store for something she can't possibly mess up.

Spaghetti.

She used to make it for herself and Amy in high school all the time on the nights her mother worked late. Surely, she can do it again. She buys a baguette, in addition to spaghetti supplies, for garlic bread and splurges on a bottle of wine and a few candles to set the mood.

She's already started the spaghetti and put the garlic bread in the oven when he calls to check in.

"Spaghetti?" He asks when she brings up dinner. "Are you sure you're up for that after last night?"

She rolls her eyes. "I've made spaghetti a million times. It'll be fine. I mean, it's all store bought so it won't be gourmet but it'll be edible. No more light cheese or dark cheese."

He chuckles. "I'll take your word for it. Did you go to the house today?"

"No," she replies. "I decided to go get the stuff you still need for the apartment instead. How's your first day in the office going?"

"Boring as hell. All I've been doing is paperwork upon paperwork. Plus, I think I miss you more than I should. Or at least more than what's healthy," he admits.

She blushes and chuckles as affection bubbles up and swallows her guilt. "I'm so glad you admitted that first. Are we in a codependent relationship or just in love?"

"Just in love, I think," he answers. "Though I've never quite felt for anyone what I feel for you so it's a bit hard to tell."

"Oh, God, is that ever relatable," she confesses. She's not sure where this honesty is coming from but it feels amazing. "Don't let that paperwork go too late. I'm a bit impatient."

He laughs softly. "You and me both. I hated leaving you in bed this morning."

She let's out a contented sigh and sits down on one of the stools at the breakfast bar. "Waking up alone a few hours later wasn't any fun for me either. You don't have to go in tomorrow, do you?"

"No, after today, I don't have to be back in the office until January second."

"Good, we have a few more days to sleep in together then. Definitely looking forward to that," she tells him.

"Oh, trust me. I look forward to holding you close in bed soon."

His voice caught on the second sentence and went from soft to gravelly in the blink of an eye. The deeper tone and the implications of the words sent warmth shooting through her veins and ultimately pooling low in her belly. She had to take a quiet moment to breath through the sudden wave of passion. One sentence and he had her ready to jump his bones.

"How the _hell_ do you do that to me?" She asks in disbelief.

He doesn't even pretend to be confused about what she means. "I'd like to ask you the same question, ma'am."

She fans her flushed face but she knows it won't help. "I bought wine and candles."

She can practically hear his smirk in his reply. "One step ahead of me as always, I see."

She bites her bottom lip and leans into the hunger she knows he feels. "And who knows, I might even be in one of your shirts by the time you get here."

He sucks in a breath as if she's just caused him pain. She knows it's actually the opposite. "I should be home in about an hour."

"I'll be here," she tells him. "Waiting."

"I should go and see if I can get this paperwork wrapped up any earlier."

She laughs and then stops when a burning smell suddenly wafts it’s way to her. It's not the spaghetti. The water wasn't even boiling yet. The only other thing she'd started was—

"Shit! The garlic bread!" She holds the phone to her ear as she races to the oven and pulls out the bread. Instead of lightly toasted, it's blackened through and through.

Wyatt laughs as he forms his next question. "What's the verdict?"

"Dead and burnt," she answers with a frustrated huff.

"I love you a lot, but please stop trying to cook me dinner, you suck."

His words are said with warmth and affection and intended to make her laugh. They hit their mark. A loud chortling laugh fills the air as she places the baking sheet with the burnt bread on the stove.

"Deal," she replies, laughingly.

"I'll let you go so you don't somehow overcook the noodles."

"Shut up, you jerk."

"Love you."

Heat returns to her cheeks as it does every time he says those words. "Love you too. Get out of there soon."

"Is that an order?" He asks in a cheeky tone.

"You bet your ass it is."

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am. See you in an hour."

They disconnect and the happiness he caused in her follows her around. She waits until the rest of dinner is finished to make sure there are no other mistakes and then heads toward Wyatt's bedroom to change. She knows exactly which of his shirts she wants to steal next.

* * *

_December 29th, 2018_

As previously discussed, they sleep in.

She wakes up with Wyatt's arms wrapped around her from behind and no intention to move for the rest of the day. Leaving his side at all is as unappealing to her as ever having spaghetti-os outside of the Bunker again. If she never sees another family sized can of spaghetti-os in her life she will die extremely happy.

A large rough hand suddenly begins to move across her stomach and then down toward her most sensitive spot. A sure sign Wyatt is awake as well. She gasps and writhes against him as his fingers brush against the inside of her thigh.

She feels his lips against the shell of her ear, but he doesn't greet her right away. He takes in a long whiff of her hair first, and then speaks in a low rumble that instantly stokes warmth deep within her.

"We should wake up like this every morning."

She bites back a wanton whimper as his hand on her thigh moves toward her center. "_Oh. _Hell yes, we should."

He chuckles with his lips still next to her ear and then swirls his fingers around the nerve center between her legs. Her head falls back onto his shoulder while he leaves a trail of hot open mouthed kisses down the curve of her neck.

"Oh, god. _Wyatt_."

She feels his smirk against her skin which does nothing to slow the erratic beating of her heart. Her toes curl and her muscles tense as he changes the rhythm from a swirl to a firm up and down swipe, barely dipping the tips of his two fingers inside of her.

She instinctively begins to move in response to his hand while reaching an arm up and behind her to coil around him. _Jesus Christ, _he's good at this.

His other hand reaches around her to find her breasts, massaging and kneading. But then all movement between her legs stops just as the pressure begins to build.

The wanton whimper she held back earlier finally escapes.

"Don't worry, Professor, I'm not done yet," Wyatt assures her with a kiss to her neck.

The hand that had practically been inside of her just a minute ago grips the underside of her knee. He lifts her leg over his and adjusts himself lower than her until she feels the hard tip of him at her entrance. She inhales sharply as soon as she realizes what he's up to. _Oh, God_. She already loves where this is going.

He eases inside of her with a guttural moan. "Fuck, _Luce_, you're so damn perfect."

"No," she corrects him. "_We're_ perfect. We just…" Her sentence trails off as he adjusts their position and moves inside of her a fraction of an inch. She cries out at the pleasure of it before finishing her thought. "We just _fit_, Wyatt. We fit."

He doesn't say anything. In reply, he grips her leg tighter and _thrusts_ — hard and deep. She was already halfway to exploding thanks to his magnificent hands so it doesn't take many more of _those_ for her to reach the highest of highs.

Judging by the way his rhythm falters and the strength of his heartbeat against her back, he's close too. He nips at her shoulder and then begins a rapid succession of thrusts that push her closer and closer to the edge of the cliff. One of those thrusts hits her _just so_ and suddenly she's falling—

Down, down, _down._

Into a sea of pleasure that surrounds her the way only Wyatt can. He follows her a couple thrusts later with her muscles fluttering around him. In the afterglow, he presses sweet delicate kisses to her shoulders and neck. When she manages to make it back down to earth and catch her breath, she turns her head to capture his mouth with hers.

Her kiss is insistent and eager.

Every time with Wyatt gets better and better. She's not sure if it's her growing feelings for him or if they truly are getting better with practice. Either way is fine with her. He's the best she's ever had, regardless.

"Definitely the best way to wake up," she tells him as they separate and she turns in his embrace. "I love you."

His pupils are blown with want and need allowing her to see indigo eyes boring into her through the early morning sunlight.

He presses his forehead to hers and gathers her closer. "I love you, too."

"Let's not leave this bed today unless it's for coffee or food," she proposes. "Deal?"

He chuckles softly and brings one hand up to adoringly caress her face. "Deal. I wouldn't want it any other way. I mean, naked Lucy Preston in my bed all day long? No way in hell am I passing that up."

No way in hell would she _let him_ pass that up. In a few days, their chances to lounge around together decrease significantly. She wants to enjoy it—_enjoy him—_while she still can.

* * *

_December 30th, 2018_

She comes back from taking out the trash to the sound of the shower running. Cracking open the bathroom door, she finds a familiar silhouette behind the curtain. She bites her bottom lip, through a troublemaking grin, and quietly undresses.

Surely, he won't mind if she joins him.

She pulls back the curtain and steps into the spray of warm water. His head swivels in her direction in surprise.

"Listen, I know we've been spending all of our time together lately, but I think separate showers are okay," he says with a knowing gleam in his eye. "Or did you just miss me that much during your trek to the trash chute at the end of the hall?"

"Don't flatter yourself, pretty boy. I'm only here to conserve water. I'm looking out for the planet, this has nothing to do with you."

"Nothing to do with me, huh?" He asks as he crowds her into the corner of the shower. He has one hand resting on the tile on each side of her as he leans in close to her lips.

Her eyes immediately follow the droplets of water as they fall down his face toward the slight parting of his very enticing lips. "N-not a thing to do with you. No."

"Anyone ever tell you that you're a bad liar?" He questions her with a smirk.

"Hey, we survived multiple historical events because of my lying. Don't pretend we didn't," she tells him with a teasing narrowed gaze. "I mean, exactly how many times did I save your life again? Should we count?"

She lifts a hand to tick off the instances on her fingers but he shuts her down by wrapping his arms around her and lifting her off the tub floor. She lets out a startled screeching laugh and balances herself by wrapping her arms and legs around him.

"Give a girl a little warning next time," she halfheartedly admonishes.

He carries her toward the shower spray with a shake of his head. "You know, I don't think I will. Are we actually going to shower during this shower or should we just forget that idea all together?"

"I see no reason why we can't get a little dirty _and_ clean ourselves all at once," Lucy tells him with a slight wiggle of her eyebrows. "I'm willing to try if you are."

His mischievous smirk slides into something more serious as that last sentence leaves her lips. The mood shifts from playful to pensive on a dime and she wonders if she's said something wrong. Her brow furrows and her hands tenderly card through his wet hair.

"Wyatt?" She asks. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he assures her. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just...I'm wondering something."

She raises her eyebrows at him expectantly. "Care to share with the class, Mr. Logan?"

"Well, there's something else I'd be willing to try if you are," he says, which clues her in on what set them down this path in the first place.

"I'm listening," she prods. Whatever this is, it's serious. He looks hesitant and nervous.

"Okay, just—before I ask this just know there's no pressure. You can do whatever you feel is right for you but I've been thinking about it all week and I'll regret it if I don't ask." His disclaimer is reassuring even if she still doesn't know where this is going.

"Understood," she replies with a nod. She gives him an encouraging squeeze around the waist and shoulders, seeing as he's still holding her up in the shower.

"Do you have any thoughts on where you'll live after you sell your mom's house?" He asks in a rush. She gets the distinct impression he thinks he might chicken out if he doesn't ask _now_.

She's a bit taken aback by his question so it takes her a moment to gather her wits. "Um, no. Not really." Honestly, she's not even figured out how to _deal_ with her mother's house at all. Let alone thought about what happens once she's done with it. "I suppose I was planning on looking for a place," she says with a weak shrug.

"And you could do that. Find your own place. I mean I would understand wanting your own space especially after...well, after everything that happened at the Bunker. But what if…" his sentence trails off and finally the pieces start to fit together.

His confidence falters as if he's not sure he should ask, but she finds herself internally cheering him on. If she's honest, she's not really thought about living anywhere else but with Wyatt. Though, she never would have assumed she could move into his space or plucked up the courage to invite herself in, she's realizing that's precisely what she wants to do.

"What if?" She asks as she cups the side of his face and lets her thumb trace a line across his cheek.

"What if you didn't?" He finally asks. "What if you just..._stayed_?"

She feels her wide toothy smile before she registers what's happening. His expression reflects hers and the light in his eyes is nearly blinding.

"Is that you're way of asking me to move in with you?" She teases.

"Only if you want to," he clarifies. "No pressure, but I...I'd really like it if we could make this arrangement permanent."

His cheeks are tinted pink with nerves and she can't help but laugh at him just a little. "You're adorable when you're anxious."

He huffs and shakes his head at her with a dry chuckle. "Gimme a break okay? I've never asked a woman to move in with me before. It's not as easy as it seems."

That admission shouldn't surprise her, but it does. She pushes lightly at his shoulders as an indicator he can put her down. Once her feet hit the tub floor again she tilts her head at him with a curious expression.

"You mean you never asked Jessica to—"

"No. Jess and I went from high school graduation to a wedding chapel. There wasn't exactly a whole lot of...forethought in that relationship. And then after Jessica I just kind of assumed I'd...lost my chance, I guess. Never really wanted to try with anyone until you," he confesses with a sheepish grin. "I'm not really a guy with a whole lot of experience at this dating thing. Just so you know."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better you really didn't miss out on much," she tells him with a dry grin. She debates keeping this next part to herself but...well he just opened up to her and she feels like she should repay him in kind. "...and I've also never done the cohabitating thing. Unless you count that one night I slept on Noah's couch which I definitely _do not_."

"If it's all the same to you I'd rather just not count _Noah_ for anything," Wyatt says with a roll of his eyes.

Lucy laughs and shakes her head at him. "You _really_ didn't like him, huh?"

"No, I did not," he answers seriously. "But I find it hard to believe that _you_ never lived with anyone before that."

She sighs and grabs the shampoo. If they’re going to talk then they’re going to actually shower. No use wasting the water. She rubs the shampoo into her hair as the conversation continues.

"There was only one guy before you that ever came close to being worth it and that never went passed a hypothetical conversation. If he was in a particularly good mood he would spin tales about 'someday' which I bought hook, line, and sinker," she admits as she rinses her hair, making sure to avoid his gaze all the while. Years later and she's still embarassed by how easily Jonas sucked her in. What a little fool she was. "He never actually intended for that 'someday' to happen. I see that now."

"So, wait, this jackass used the idea of living together to—what?—keep you hanging on?" Wyatt asks as he reaches around her for the conditioner and places the bottle in her hand.

"There was a little more to it than that, but yes," Lucy replies with closed lids. "I eventually broke it off but by then it was a little too late. By the time I figured it out, he'd been promoted above me at Stanford." She pauses as she's applying conditioner and smirks darkly at Wyatt. "Let's just say I learned a very valuable lesson about the ramifications of dating your coworkers...which I then promptly ignored by falling in love with you."

As she expected, Wyatt reads exactly what she means in her expression. She opens her eyes as she feels Wyatt's hands massaging conditioner into her scalp to find him staring at her with an offended expression.

"Hold on," he says.

She does her best to pay attention but his hands on her scalp feel far too wonderful. If he's not careful she's going to fall asleep in his arms in the middle of the shower.

"Are you—are you implying that this dick who led you on for so long is the _same dick_ who denied you tenure? Am I understanding that correctly?"

She doesn't bother affirming his question verbally. He already knows he's right. So, she lets out a deep sigh and nods slowly.

"Son of a bitch, I hate this douchebag," Wyatt swears as his hands continue to gently massage her scalp. "You didn't deserve that. I mean what kind of no-balled twerp do you have to be to deny a woman tenure because she dumped your sorry ass?"

His tirade brings happy tears to her eyes and causes a joyful laugh to bubble up from her chest. He really is an unbelievable man. Not only is he standing in this shower sympathizing with her and encouraging her but he's simultaneously taking care of her as well. He didn't need to hand her the conditioner or help her apply it, but he did anyway. Because he cares about _her_. He loves _her_. Not because it might be to his advantage or because she's a sheep he can manipulate. No, he loves her for no other reason than he just..._does_. _He just does._

Yes, he's made some mistakes but every mistake he's made comes from trying to do the right and honorable thing. If doing what's right even when it hurts is his main flaw, how much of a flaw can that really be?

There are worse things, as illustrated by her pathetic dating history.

"You truly are my favorite person, Wyatt Logan," Lucy tells him as she dips her head back into the water to rinse it out. She pulls Wyatt's hands into the water with her and rinses the conditioner from them before pressing a kiss to each palm. She deliberately meets his eyes before continuing. He needs to know how badly she wants this — _wants him_. "And I would love nothing more than to move in with you."

His offense on her behalf melts into elation as he crushes her against him with a hopeful smile. "You mean it? If you're not ready for it, that's okay, Luce. You don't have to—"

"I mean it," she declares, cutting off his attempt at giving her an easy out. "I want to live here with you. I want to make this place—No, not this place. _You._ I want to make _you _my home."

"I want that to," he agrees. "I want all of what you just said. Right here, right now."

She beams at him and repeats her words from earlier. "I'm willing to try if you are."

"I'm willing to try, alright. I'm willing to try a lot of things _with you_." He lifts her again, this time with his hands cupping her ass, and presses her into the tile wall. "This is gonna be fun, Professor. I can feel it."

"Oh, I can feel it too," she says with a meaningful grin as she grinds herself against him. "And it feels pretty _solid_ to me."

He half laughs and half groans in pleasure as he nudges her nose with his. "_Christ_, I love you. You're a little mean but damn if it doesn't turn me on."

She laughs against his mouth as his lips finally meet hers.

By the time they finish, she has no doubt about how turned on she makes him, but she does doubt whether or not their shared shower conserved any water.

So much for saving the planet.

She should feel guilty, but she doesn't.

Not even a little bit.

* * *

_New Years Eve, 2018_

"Settling back in?" Harper asks. "God, does that mean apartment hunting? I hate apartment hunting."

"No," Lucy says as she catches Wyatt's eye across the room. "I'm pretty set with living arrangements, actually."

Jiya gives Lucy a startled but pleased glance that Harper completely misses. Lucy smirks and nods at her friend. Jiya, in turn, clinks her wine glass against Lucy's in congratulations.

"About damn time," Jiya whispers.

Across the room, Rob calls Harper over to him.

"Oh, that's my cue," she says with a bright smile. "It was good to see you again, Professor Preston. I hope you'll be back at Stanford soon!"

"You'll be the first to know when or if I decide to come back," Lucy assures the younger woman. "I promise."

Once Harper's out of ear shot Jiya winks at Lucy. "Glad to hear Wyatt finally locked you down. Took him long enough."

"To be fair, for part of that time his wife came back from the dead."

"Still counts. He should have kicked her to the curb _immediately_," Jiya tells her with an eye roll. "It was obvious to everyone that she would never hold a candle to you. Well, everyone but the two of you, I guess."

"Yeah, _well_, we're not wasting anymore time. I can promise you that," Lucy assures her.

Harper reaches the other side of the room and is briefly introduced to Wyatt before he excuses himself and makes his way to Lucy. Is it just her imagination or is he walking in slow motion? God, he's too attractive for his own good. She never told him about the rolled up sleeves but did he figure it out? Is this a coincidence?

Jiya snorts gracelessly and hands Lucy a cocktail napkin. "You're drooling. You may want to do something about that."

Lucy panics for a moment before realizing Jiya is joking. "Is this payback for messing with Rufus so much when the two of you first started dating?"

The smirk on Jiya's face says it all. "Maybe."

"Jiya," Wyatt greets as he joins them. "Happy New Year."

"Thank you," she replies. "I would wish you the same but we all know your New Year celebration will be _plenty_ happy."

Lucy blushes and covers her face with her free hand. "I hate you right now. I absolutely hate you."

Jiya shakes her head with a grin. "You don't. You _really_ don't. But I tell you what, I'll show you both some mercy and go track down my own boyfriend. Word of advice?" She says as she turns to Wyatt. "Find a room before your midnight kiss. She may not be able to control herself. She's been obsessively staring at you all night."

"Nice," Lucy says sarcastically. "Thanks for that."

"Anytime!" She calls over her shoulder. "You two kids have fun now, you hear?"

"Oh, I think we will," Wyatt replies. "Especially if Lucy might jump me at any given moment. That's the kind of fun I really like to have."

"Can you not encourage her, please?" Lucy asks as she barely holds back a laugh. "She's a brat."

"But is she right?" Wyatt asks as one of his hands settles on her waist. He quirks a suggestive brow at her. "Do I need to find us somewhere a little more private for our midnight kiss?"

"You tell me, you're the one who had a hand up my skirt on the drive over here," Lucy asks with a quirked brow of her own.

"Trust me, I have plenty planned for later, but I think you're safe for now," he retorts.

"Later, huh?" Lucy asks as she leans against him with one arm around his shoulders. She adjusts their positions so she can whisper seductively into his ear. "I'm curious. Where are we gonna go?"

His other hand comes to rest on the small of her back and idly rubs in a circle. His eyes shift to indigo as he draws her closer. Everything around them goes hazy until all she sees is him. She's certain no one will ever truly understand how she feels about him or how deeply she loves him. It'll remain a secret only they share, and that's fine. That's exactly how it should be.

"_Home_, Lucy. Once this party is over, I'm taking you home _with me_," he replies in his own whisper.

A thrill skates up her spine at the combination of those words and the determined look in his eyes. She can only imagine what awaits them back at his—_correction_: their—place. She's tempted to ditch the midnight countdown altogether and rush him out the door.

She hums her eager agreement with his plan and kisses his cheek before moving her lips to the shell of his ear. One hand dips into his back pocket and wraps around the car keys, possibly giving him a light squeeze along the way, as she murmurs softly.

"_I'll drive."_

**Author's Note:**

> * * *
> 
> **A/N: **Prompts used:
> 
> 32 - "I look forward to holding you close in bed soon."
> 
> 14 - "I love you a lot, but please stop trying to cook me dinner, you suck."


End file.
